Little Old Me
by Klappy
Summary: A baby. Prompto is a freaking baby. No, not just mentally as Ignis always reproved. He is literally a baby.


_Cross-posted from AO3. Because I got my facts mixed up and only realized it after having half of the plot done in my head, I am placing Naga at the Greyshire Glacial Grotto. This takes place between the events of The Sword in the Waterfall and before the Imperials invade Lestallum._

 _I also feel the need to point out that I began writing this before I came across Ingaritsu Refrain so any similarities are purely coincidental, though I think the only similarity you'll find is at the beginning. This was inspired by juvenile-reactor's fanarts on tumblr. Give her love~_

* * *

Prompto screams, disappears, and Noctis wills the heart pounding painfully against his rib cage to _calm the hell down_. He fails.

The Naga appears not a second later, with accusations of kidnapping thrown at their party, and the prince has to remind himself that he had no business dying here yet. The Armiger engulfs him in blue light, and the snake falls to its death.

Noctis wastes no time in scouring the tunnels, his boots echoing with a dull tap, tap against the dungeon floor, throat dry with screaming the gunslinger's name. Ignis and Gladio follow him, their own masks of composure unravelling at the edges, before they all stop short at the sight of a royal tomb, a bundle of Fatigues by its front step.

The prince barely registers his advisor's warning not to be hasty for he all but crawls toward the garments, only to realize that it was squirming.

"Noct, don't—"

Whatever it was Ignis didn't want him to do, he'd probably never know as they all fell in shock the moment Noct pulled the jacket loose.

Huge, blue eyes stare back at them, shimmering like the ocean by Galdin Quay, before the silence is shattered by Prompto's ear-piercing wail.

.

.

A baby.

Prompto is a _freaking_ baby.

No, not just mentally as Ignis always reproved. He is _literally a baby_.

"A toddler, technically," the advisor corrects. "Appears to be of that age."

Whatever, Noct thinks. He looks pretty much a baby to him. All small hands and feet, huge head and eyes, and a rather plump tummy.

And cheeks.

"Tough luck, kid," Gladio snorts from where he is seated on one of the caravan's plastic chairs, Prompto perched on a knee. It made him look punier. Why does Gladio have him?

"Give me it." The prince makes grabby hands at his shield and Gladio smirks at him, amused. Ignis' expression is one of disapproval.

"He is not a toy, Noct," Ignis sighs.

Whatever, Noctis thinks again as he bounces Prompto on top of his knees, up and down he goes.

.

.

They head back to Lestallum by daybreak. Ignis takes the wheel and Gladio occupies the passenger seat for a change. Noctis stays at the back with Prompto with the seatbelt on, much to the prince's chagrin.

"I don't need a seatbelt."

"You don't. The baby does."

Noct frowns, but does not argue. He secures the chubby toddler on his lap with the belt instead. "What are you smiling about, Gladio?"

"Nuthin'." The man adjusts his seat to make more legroom before saying as casually as he could, "just thought if you somehow turned blondie on us you two'd look like a mama chocobo and its chick."

Said mama chocobo wanted to rebut, but then Ignis laughs, and they know it's a lost cause if even Specs laughs.

.

.

Iris storms into their hotel room as soon as she hears the news. "Oh. My. Gosh!" she squeals. "Give me, give him to me!" She snatches Prompto from the prince's arms in a beat, and Noct tries not to scowl. The younger Amicitia all but gushes at the gunslinger-turned-infant, squeezing him and making the child giggle in that Prompto kind of way, before holding the child at arm's length with a frown on her face. "What did you boys make him wear?"

There was a cough, and Ignis starts with how they aren't necessarily equipped for this sort of mishap thus the need to improvise, but Noct cuts him off with a "What? He looks cute wearing my shirt."

A chorus of reactions greets him as Gladio barks out a laugh, Ignis intends to paraphrase his statement, and Iris breaks out into a blush before scurrying off with the toddler, calling out to Talcott for a shirt.

.

.

Insomnia in winter is picturesque with its frozen lakes and snow-covered pathways. It was undoubtedly the young prince's favorite season, not for its splendor, no, but for the fact that he can stay indoors in his pajamas under layers and layers of satin quilts.

"You are missing out, my son," his father says with a kind smile. "It is a fine day to enjoy Shiva's blessings."

Seven-year-old Noctis pouts. "Too cold, dad."

Regis laughs. "I believe what you mean is more time for sleep."

Noctis doesn't deny the truth of his words, and he lets his eyes close as his father reaches out to run a hand through his hair.

The soothing strokes turn into incessant pulls, and the space between Noctis' brows creases. He opens his eyes to the aged wallpaper of the Leville's ceiling and huge, bright blue eyes.

.

.

"Ugh. Mushrooms, Ignis?"

Ignis doesn't look up from where he is chopping malmashrooms with a fine edged blade. "I deemed it appropriate to make a milk risotto, given the circumstances," he pauses for a moment to regard the prince cross-legged on the suite's floor. "I trust that is manageable?"

Noct doesn't answer, instead he grabs Prompto under the armpits and balances the toddler on wobbly feet. "What'd you say, buddy? There's milk but there's veggies. Icky." The child blows a raspberry at the last word, a banter he and Prompto frequently shared, and Noctis grins.

"I hardly doubt that's appropriate, Noct."

A few minutes pass before the prince speaks again. "I dreamt of dad."

The sounds from the kitchenette momentarily cease, before Ignis replies with a curt "I see." They leave it at that.

.

.

Something about Prompto's predicament has the prince in higher spirits since the fall of Insomnia. He knew he ought to be alarmed at how it's been days since the incident and his friend is still a child (no pun intended), coupled with the threat of the Empire catching wind of their presence in Lestallum, but Noct found he could care less.

"Come on, Prom," the prince cheers. "Come to Noct, you can do it."

Said Prom lifts his tiny foot, wobbles, but manages to step an inch closer to where the chocobo puppet flaps its beak in Noct's hand. The prince makes a "Kweh!" sound that has Iris and Talcott stifling their giggles behind him, but it has Prompto clapping his little hands in glee. He topples over in a rush to get to the bird and almost hits the cobbled pavement, if not for the steady hands that catch him and sweep him to the air.

The child squeals, grabs the feathery puppet with a pincer-like grasp, and Noctis laughs with abandon in the warm afternoon.

.

.

They drive to Meldacio the following day. Ignis received word that Dave has returned from his recent bounty, and the advisor deemed it appropriate that they consult the head hunter regarding Prompto's condition. Noct had reluctantly taken the wheel so Ignis can brief the man through the phone, and Gladio took to the back seat with Prompto.

"Keep your eyes on the road and your foot on the pedal, Noct," the advisor reminds him. Again. "The last thing we need is an accident with an infant on board."

"I will if Gladio would just _keep the infant inside the car_. Hold him properly!"

The shield clicks his tongue but adjusts his grip on the back of Prompto's shirt, the toddler bouncing on pudgy limbs as he leaned against the inside of the car door and cooed at the passing scenery. "Quit your whining," he groans. "I ain't stupid to let him fall out the window. Since when did you start being so overprotective? You barely liked kids who're not Iris or Talcott."

"It's _Prompto_."

"Your point being?" Gladio tosses back at him with a knowing grin. Noctis just bites his tongue and glares at him through the rear-view mirror.

.

.

"Prompto, no!"

Noctis pulls the gunslinger into his arms, avoiding a most painful meeting between sharp, cold steel and bare skin.

"Who's being careless now, huh?" Gladio teases.

The prince barks a "Shut up" and checks Prompto for injuries, which are thankfully nonexistent. He lifts the child at eye-level. "Not okay, Prompto. Weapons aren't toys—"

Cough. "Can't believe I'm hearing this."

"—that could've been so messed up—"

"You do know you're talkin' to a baby, right?"

"—and I'm gonna beat your ass if you don't stop talking over me, Gladio."

"Wanna see how that goes?"

A few steps away, Ignis sighs audibly at the display, the beginnings of a headache well on their way. He glances apologetically at Dave. "As I was saying…"

.

.

Dave's advice was to visit "The Witch of the Woods". Ignis was a tad skeptical but as it was their only lead, he saw it fit to pursue. They are to leave again by the morrow; tonight he shall plan on their approach whilst the rest of their party gallivanted through Lestallum's evening festivities, as well as babysit.

"Ah, I'm afraid that is rather inedible, young one." The advisor plucks the pencil from Prompto's lips. "I do believe we have enough milk left."

After he had properly scolded both prince and his shield of their immature behavior, Ignis ordered them to leave the child alone. Noctis was properly upset but Gladio pulled him into a headlock and they wandered off, the prince struggling all the way. The thought makes Ignis smile as he feeds Prompto from the warmed bottle of milk.

"One does wonder of Noct's sudden—should we call it possessiveness?" He swipes at the trickle of milk that spills from the child's lips. "Though I suppose that is hardly a cause of wonder, is it?" As if on cue, Prompto lets out a loud belch, and Ignis allows himself a chuckle.

.

.

Gladio slams the bottle of mead in front of the moody prince. "A'right," he snaps. "Out with it."

"Out with what?"

"What's been eating at you? And don't tell me nuthin'," the man grunts when Noctis looked like he'd deny it. He eyes the prince for a second before adding, "Not really secret how you look at normal him, Noct. But that's not it this time so spit it."

The prince balks at the revelation, the stain of a blush across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Gladio fixes him with a stare. "Y'know what happened isn't your—"

"I know," Noct mutters under his breath. "It's just— he's—" The prince groans. Why are words so hard? "He's so _little_ and I just feel like—" He grabs a fistful of his own hair in frustration. He wants to say Prompto ought to be scared but the child clearly isn't; his best friend had always been highly independent, more so than what was good for him. _He_ was the one feeling helpless and Noctis is not even sure _why_. "In case he somehow remembers all this," he throws a careless hand in the air, "I just— I don't want him to think he was alone."

The silence that follows is no less awkward, and Noct grabs the now warm liquor to down half of it in a gulp. Gladio's still looking at him like he knew something the prince didn't—he supposed that was true—but the shield just smirks and grabs his own drink. "Huh," Gladio huffs. "You spit it out."

.

.

They reach the wooden hut by Malmalam Thicket before sundown, only to find their quarry absent. Ignis directs them back to the haven at the foot of the mountain, and Noctis pulls on the reigns of his chocobo with one hand while the other secures Prompto to his front.

The child had been uncannily quiet since the trip this morning and Noctis will admit to being worried. Even the promise of real chocobos barely earned him a smile. "Something's wrong, Ignis," he calls out once they reach the haven. The advisor takes the child and examines him while Noct half-heartedly helps Gladio set up camp.

"I can't find anything particularly wrong with him," Ignis declares. "Other than the obvious, of course. Perhaps a mere quiet spell? You had those quite frequently when you were younger."

"Well," Noctis reaches for Prompto, "that's different." He runs a hand through blond hair and settles it on a plump cheek. Prompto leans in to the warmth, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and Noct can't shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

.

.

All things considered, Prompto was not a fussy baby. Toddler. Whatever. He was not fussy. So when he screams them all awake in the middle of the night, Noctis immediately panics.

"H-He's burning up!" the prince's voice breaks. Prompto is trashing violently in his arms, crying and screaming his lungs out, and Noct is on the verge of a breakdown himself. Gladio had rushed from the tent to search for any herb they can use after their stock of potions and remedies did not work, and Ignis debates with himself about an unlikely option.

"His temperature is detrimental to his present age," the advisor warns as the pale glow of the magic flask illuminates them. Noctis looks at him incredulously. "Fear not, I do not intend to use it fully. Just—" The chill of the Blizzard spell fills the inside of their tent, and Noct hopes beyond his quivering muscles that it helps.

It doesn't help.

Noctis chokes out Prompto's name as he cradles the child to his chest, before a voice cuts through the gut-wrenching cries. "The child, give him here." The voice belongs to an elderly woman, clad in black and a calm smile on her lips. Ignis instinctively places himself between her and the prince, but Noct steps from behind him.

"Noct—"

They fall silent as the elder draws a vial fastened to a necklace and pours clear liquid past Prompto's lips. Noctis tenses, the fear clearly etched on his expression, but then Prompto stops crying the next second and the prince's knees go weak with relief.

.

.

"Quite rare, this curse is," Kimya says. They followed the elder back to her hut after Prompto had calmed down. The child now lay sleeping, still in Noctis' arms and bundled in his fishing jacket.

"You are certain it is a curse?" Ignis asks.

"Certain, I am." The elder paces across the room towards a wooden shelf adorned with flasks and assorted materials. She proceeds to tell them of the Naga's tale, who cursed her own children to a fiery death for their betrayal. The three men were understandably alarmed. "A cure, I may brew. His safety, to ensure. But help from you, I must seek."

Noctis doesn't need to be convinced. "We'll do anything."

The elder regards him with a meaningful smile. She approaches him slowly, places a hand on Prompto's small chest, then brings the same hand over the prince's heart. "Clear as the heavens, your soul speaks. Lose heart, you must not."

Noctis can feel the swell of emotion within him, and his hold on Prompto tightens. The child coos, buries his face against the prince's chest, and Noct can see his smile mirrored on Ignis' and Gladio's faces.

Kimya speaks again. "Take heed, now I must tell. For death, you must bring. The mind who flays, you must defeat. Sage of white, yours to keep."

.

.

The journey to the Chocobo Post is as silent as the empty road. Gladio buries his face under his books, Ignis helps himself to a disposable cup of Ebony, and Noct steps on the gas like there's no tomorrow.

After requesting the information from Dave, they headed off to secure the hunt and left the sleeping Prompto in Kimya's care. Noctis was against it, but Ignis pointed out how they would likely have to leave the child in someone else's care to complete the quest, and the elder was the best option in case another incident happened. The prince agreed with a heavy heart, placing a soft kiss on Prompto's forehead before hurrying away.

"He will be alright, Noct," the advisor offers with a kind smile.

Noctis nods, then steps on the gas harder.

.

.

The door slamming heavily against the caravan wall drives the nearby chocobos to a fright.

"Calm down, Noct!" Gladio roughly grabs him and shoves him into one of the plastic chairs. "Your temper isn't helping us any!"

They arrived at the Post late, much to Noctis' dismay. The bounty only comes out at night, down the road and deep in the Nebulawood, and they reached Wiz's place by dawn. It immediately sent the prince into a panicked rage.

"We don't have time, Gladio," the prince pronounces with gritted teeth. "You heard the witch! It's more than possible Prompto's gonna come down with something worse, much worse than before, and we're— _I'm_ miles away from him!" Noct slams his fists painfully against his knees, his breathing ragged and heavy from the sudden outburst. Then he slumps, almost folds himself in half and cradles his head between his arms.

He hears the sigh Gladio heaves and the crunch of Ignis' shoes on the gravel as the advisor crouches in front of him. "He will be alright, Noct," he repeats. A hand squeezes his arm for a moment, before Ignis stands. "Go and rest, you have had a lot to deal with. We will alert you when it's time."

.

.

He is dreaming again, is aware of it this time. Noctis stares at his six-year-old reflection on the lake's surface, before he looks up to see his father hook a Poppeck lure to his line. Noct smiles.

"Ready, Noctis?"

There is no proof that Prompto's condition links to Noctis' dreams, but he has been dreaming of Regis and his childhood since. The prince is all too mindful of speaking about the late king, doing his best to avoid losing himself in grief, but it is dreams like this one that reminds him just how much he misses his father.

Noct grins and nods, beams at the laugh that escapes Regis. He ducks as his father places the familiar black cap on his small head, but when he looks up, it's Prompto standing in front of him.

"You okay, buddy?" The gunslinger grins at him, all hundred and seventy-three centimeters of him, and Noctis barely registers the fact that he's falling, falling, falling.

.

.

He wakes up on the floor, sandwiched in between the bunkbeds that lined the caravan's walls. There's a soft laugh behind him and he angles his neck to give Ignis an inverted frown.

"Everything alright, Noct?" The advisor helps him up and dusts his Fatigues. Noctis nods his thanks.

They head out to where Gladio is attending to his weapon. "Hey, feelin' better?" he says in lieu of a greeting.

"Yeah." A pause. "Thanks, Gladio."

His shield smirks, reaches out an arm, and Noctis feels his lips quirk in the same manner at the fist-bump. Gladio stands and hoists the sword against his shoulder. "It's time."

One can see the moment that the prince's resolve sets, the faint red glow of the Lucian Kings' line visible in his eyes. "It's time."

.

.

The battle ends by midnight when the vestiges of the last Thunder spell disappears and Ignis picks up the prized accessory. There was less than a ten percent chance of the daemons dropping the item but thank the Six they got lucky; else, they could have never forgiven themselves for prolonging Prompto's agony.

"Catch, Noct."

Noctis instinctively reaches out for the ring, examines it for a second before securing it inside a pocket. "Right," his eyes flash in the darkness of the woods, "time to get our gunslinger back."

.

.

The prince pulls the reigns on his chocobo sharply and wastes no time in jumping off and sprinting towards Kimya's hut. Heart racing against his chest, he disregards Ignis' reminder to knock and throws himself into the room.

A beat. Then, "Noc!"

Noctis can feel the breath rush out of him as he scoops Prompto into his arms. _He's okay. He's fine._ "You're okay."

The child grins and Noct can't help but see the twenty-year-old Prompto in that face.

"Noc!"

.

.

"Noct, _stop._ "

Noct doesn't stop. "Come on. Don't tell me you don't wanna do this."

Ignis sighs and leaves the prince pinching the toddler's cheeks, nevermind that said toddler has his brows knit in a frown.

"Hey, why'd you get to have all the fun? Lemme— uh—" Gladio bares his teeth in an embarrassed grin. "On second thought— hav' ta clean my weapon."

Well. At least one of them pays attention to Ignis' raised brow. "Do you need help with anything?" the advisor turns to Kimya.

The elder declines with a smile. "Thankful, my boy, I am. But help, you need not. Complete the cure, I shall by nightfall. Rest your mind, you must."

Ignis deliberates for a moment, but then he looks up and sees Prompto's reddened cheeks, and decides that enough is enough.

.

.

They are due back at Lestallum the same evening with the cure Kimya successfully brews. Noctis' finds himself grasping on how to express his gratitude, but the elder simply takes his hand and places it above his heart for the second time. "Encounter hardship, you will, my king. But this heart to lose, you shall not." She places a steady hand atop Prompto's head and regards Gladio and Ignis with an aged smile. "Their trust and love, you shall not."

With the threat of Prompto dying lifted from their shoulders, Noctis allows himself a careless laugh as they cruise along in the Regalia. At the adventure. At the relief. At everything. Soon Gladio and Ignis are laughing with him, their mirth carrying through the wind.

.

.

"Okay, Prompto," Noctis holds the flask against the toddler's lips. "Say ahh—"

Prompto pouts, grunts, and shoves the flask as far away as his short limbs can. Of course.

Gladio snorts. "Did I ever tell you y'rock this whole mama chocobo gig?" Noct opens his mouth to snarl at him but Iris beats him to it.

"Oh, shut it, Gladdy. Come on, Prom. Drink the yummy juice, yeah?"

To everyone's surprise the child trashes, buries his face in Noct's shirt, and screams "NOC!"

Is that supposed to be a no?

.

.

It's well into the night when Noctis throws everyone out of the room.

"Are you sure about this, Noct?" Ignis' frown deepens as Prompto's tantrum increases in volume.

"Yeah, it's fine, Specs," Noctis replies. "I can handle this."

The advisor appraises him with concern, before Ignis nods and agrees to leave.

Noct closes the door behind him and stares pointedly at Prompto, whose screaming stopped the second they were alone. "Alright, you." The prince strides over to the now bubbly child, props him up on the bed, then kneels in front of him. "I need you to work with me on this, buddy. I—" He grasps the tiny hands within his own. "The past week has been great, Prom, and I'll never get sick of looking after you, no matter what age," Noctis chuckles at his own words. "But I— there's still a lot we need to do and we need you back, Prom." He bites his lip.

"I need you."

.

.

He can hear Gladio teasing him at the back of his head but what's a prince got to do? Noctis hopes he'd somehow broken into whatever language barrier Prompto has in his "toddlerness". If not, perhaps he can mix the cure with milk and hope to the Astrals that the child drinks it? Why did he kick Ignis out again? Specs will know what—

His train of thought halts when he feels the soft pit, pat of small fingers against his cheek. There is something in the way Prompto smiles at him then that makes him forget he's been dealing with a child. Without hesitation, he reaches for the flask and holds it against Prompto's lips.

This time, he drinks.

.

.

Prompto had gone out like a light.

If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Noct would have had another panic attack. As it is, he pulls the shutters close and turns off the lamp, then settles beside the sleeping babe. He thinks he ought to prepare for when the cure takes effect and Prompto wakes up, but exhaustion creeps up on him like a Coeurl pouncing on its prey, so Noctis sleeps.

.

.

The cure works, Prompto is back to normal, and Noct doesn't stop himself from pulling the gunslinger into a rib-crushing embrace. Prompto internally swears his heart's going to leap off his chest if the prince doesn't let go of him the next second. Plus a permanent blush. "I-I missed you, too? Uh, did I go somewhere?"

Noctis lets him go then and Prompto doesn't miss the prickle of tears in his friend's eyes. Noct opens his mouth as if to say something, thinks better of it, and just smiles. The kind of smile that reminds Prompto just how deep his feelings ran for the next king of Lucis, and he thinks Shit. Shit. Shit.

"U-Uh, Noc—"

"You feelin' okay? Nothing weird? Are you hurt somewhere? D'you need anything?"

Prompto blinks at the sudden barrage of questions and he shakes his head hastily. "I-I'm fine, Noct!" He laughs at the embarrassed grin that the prince throws at him. "Really. Just—uh—"

"What is it?"

He's pretty sure he looks like a blond tomato now or something. "C-clothes, maybe?"

It's Noct's turn to blink. Prompto can pinpoint the exact moment that realization dawns on him, if the blush that colors the prince's cheeks are any indication, before his heated gaze travels down Prompto's barely clothed body.

They both freeze.

Prompto's diving under the duvet the next second and Noct tries not to bite his tongue as he calls out to Ignis in the next room.

Nope. Not going down that road. Not just yet.

.

.

They are back on the Regalia and headed to a hunt by Alstor Slough. Ignis had been hesitant of letting Prompto return abruptly to the heat of battle but Gladio somehow convinces him otherwise.

As for Prompto, the gunslinger is equal parts excited and nervous to be returning to "normalcy". He'd heard about what happened to him largely from Iris, Gladio and Talcott. The younger Amicitia literally just spilled it out the moment she laid eyes on him. Well, normal him. After the initial surprise, he found his muscles in dire need of loosening up and his camera missing more than a week's worth of photos. With the exception of one.

Clearly, Noct was the one holding the camera but his little self must have done something to throw it off balance. In the photo is one large, blue eye framed by blond hair, a laughing Noct with his head thrown back, and the clear, clear sky.

.

.

"So."

Noctis looks up just as Prompto flops down beside him. They have opted for camp tonight, the haven boasting of a spectacular view of the lake. "So?"

"A little birdie told me you were, I dunno," Prompto wiggles his brow at him, "my royal babysitter?"

Noct snorts. "Right."

"Just admit it, dude." Prompto throws a light punch against his arm. "Pretty sure I was a cute baby."

 _Yeah._ "Nah, you were fat. A fat baby."

He watches Prompto splutter. "I wasn't fat! Ignis said I was 'rather plump'. That's Specs speak for chubby," he insists. "Just chubby."

Ah.

Noctis makes a show of crossing his arms. "Oh, so you talked to _Ignis_ first?" The prince smirks at the way Prompto's face flares up.

"T-That's not what I—! Dude, don't change the topic!" the gunslinger cries. "I was—he's just—I was helping out with dinner!" A pout. "It'd be boring with nothing to talk about. Will you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"Stop— looking at me weird!" Prompto shoves him back, face threatening to go up in flames, and tries to run, but Noctis grabs his arm and pulls him back down.

He missed this.

"Yeah, yeah, chubby alright. You got real plump here—" He pokes Prompto's stomach.

"Dude!"

"Here." A pinch to the back of his arms.

"Noct, you—!"

"And here." He presses a chaste kiss to Prompto's cheek, proud of the blush threatening to overthrow those freckles, and doesn't regret being pushed off the haven one bit.

.

.

Thinking back to it, Noctis might have unconsciously wished for Prompto to stay young a bit longer. Sure, they had a journey to continue—the Archaean certainly is proving to be impatient if the visions were any indication—but the time he spent taking care of the child was a breath of fresh air in their otherwise dismal situation.

No burden of past kings.

No fate deigned by the Astrals.

Nothing.

Less sleep, yeah. But other than that, there was just Prompto.

"Hey, Noct!"

Yeah. Just Prompto.

* * *

 _Sorry for the dots but those are supposedly spaces that FFNet doesn't allow. I hope you guys had fun!_


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